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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Sappho of Green Springs"

We draw
the line at the major."
Lashed as she had been by those words apparently out of all semblance of
her former social arrogance, a lower and more stubborn resistance seemed
to have sprung up in her, as she sat sideways, watching him with her set
smile and contracting eyes.
"Ah," she said dryly, "so SHE IS HERE. I thought so. Which of you is it,
eh? It's a good spec--Mallory's a rich man. She's not particular."
The man had stopped as if listening, his head turned towards the road.
Then he turned carelessly, and facing her again, waved his hand with a
gesture of tired dismissal, and said, "Go! You'll find your driver over
there by the tool-shed. He has heard nothing yet--but I've given you
fair warning. Go!"
He walked slowly back towards the shed, as the woman, snatching up
the reins, drove violently off in the direction where the men had
disappeared. But she turned aside, ignoring her waiting driver in her
wild and reckless abandonment of all her old conventional attitudes, and
lashing her horse forward with the same set smile on her face, the same
odd relaxation of figure, and the same squaring of her elbows.


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